Kneeling form
Prayers uttered
Eyes look up to heaven

Slender match
Waiting wick
Paid by proffered coin

Tiny fire burns
Wax of holy hope
Melted prayers glisten

Moist eyes reflect
Tears slowly dry
Tracks on sorrowed checks

Another coin
Another flame
Who would be to blame

The burning candle
Flickering tells
It’s time for letting go

Burning low
Hope gutters
Golden rings forgotten

Naked on the bed.
Crumpled sheets
             tossed aside.
Unsettled strains.
          Musical snippets waft from
          god-knows-where.

Overhead
     a
fan spins.        

Breeze on skin.
What does it mean anyway?
           The fan?
                     The spinning?
                                What the hell does it mean?

You see it in movies sometimes;
      the fan… spinning
         a room… spinning
            the moment… spinning
               spinning…
            spinning…
      spinning…               off into some sort of premonition
                                      or foreshadow of disaster.

Like in the script from some film.
     One of those with
                                      the dark edges  
           and the loud


           silences.

What does it mean?              
           What the hell could it possibly mean?
            
                           Does it mean anything at all?

Maybe,
   all it means is
        it’s too **** hot

tonight.

                            yeah
                            might be that’s all it means.

                                           ok…

Love came to me on the wind
Affections whispered
By zephyr breeze

Love came to me on the wind
Gentle caresses
In Spring flowers fragrance

Love came to me on the wind
And left
In that form I could not hold it

I'm right, they're wrong.
They just won't get along.
Of course that's why we fight.






                     (Effing morons anyway...)

Riding the train to Mall of America near Minneapolis. Fort Snelling National Cemetery lies East of the tracks. Outside the windows pass these gravestones. Stark marble markers in the place of heros. Rigid rank and file, monuments on parade in mimic  memory of the command to "Attention!"  

And there are thousands. Row after row, column upon column, they march into the distance

Until finally, I closed my eyes and listened to the rumble of the  train, wheels upon tracks, and to the conversion of a young family seated behind me as they talked about all the fun they will have at the mall. The Mall of America -- found out past the tombstones, beyond the graves of the fallen brave.

Stale airs stalled in a fetid grasp;
Wilting both body and soul.

Seems for years wishing on sargasso seas for even yet the barest breeze.

Without direction. The birds, the gulls, the albatross have left me to my fate.

Sweating life which I canpppp ill afford,
I pace this motionless deck.

Recalling, wishing the storms of youth. Then, at least, there was movement

In fevered dreams, I faced down gales.
On a dying ship I approached that shore.

The sun peels, cooking flesh, but here
not even scavengers deem to come.

There are times when I have to stop
on the side of the road and wonder,
how did I end up in this state? But then I remember some turn I made about a hundred miles back, and who knows why. Then I turn the key and wish I'd brought a map.